


help me hold onto you

by Pontmercyingtilthecowscomehome



Series: Hope Carried Long (Cassian/Leia) [6]
Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Married Couple, Romantic Kissing, Stand Alone, reduced age gap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-06
Updated: 2020-03-06
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:07:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23035249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pontmercyingtilthecowscomehome/pseuds/Pontmercyingtilthecowscomehome
Summary: A romantic moment between Cassian and Leia is threatened by memories of the past.
Relationships: Cassian Andor/Leia Organa
Series: Hope Carried Long (Cassian/Leia) [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1230014
Comments: 4
Kudos: 6





	help me hold onto you

**Author's Note:**

> This is the 50th Cassian/Leia fic on Ao3. I know no better way to honor the ship than to add a standalone to my series for them!  
> (and to provide even more angst)

It’s the twentieth anniversary of the destruction of the Death Star. The first one. Leia isn’t sure anyone keeps track of the second, except for perhaps the ewoks, for whom it has already passed into legend.

Sometimes, Leia feels that she is just as much of a legend, barely real, barely more than the ghost of someone who had once moved the universe with her actions.

Then, her child calls for her, or her husband tickles her side, and Leia remembers that no, she is completely alive, completely happy, here on this tiny U-Wing that makes a home for herself, for Cassian, their daughter, and of course, Kaytu.

Life keeps her busy. There are dishes to wash, a child to feed, a thousand little tasks, all of which s just as pressing as fighting the Empire had once been,

She knows Cassian struggles with the same thing, knows that he fears not becoming a legend, but a ghost. Spies are not remembered, not memorialized, not even noticed, once the war ends.

And today, on such a noticeable anniversary, it seems the feeling has spread over him once more. Leia catches him staring at their small duraplast sheet on the wall. Studying it. That’s her first clue, as always. He’s normally made of motion. Running his fingers through his hair, checking his wrist chrono, fidgeting with whatever tool he has in his hand. When he goes still, it’s when the part of him that’s still fighting the war has returned.

The part that she’s afraid will hurt him, one of these days. The part that she can’t always reach, and the part that is, perhaps, who he is at his core.

It scares her, sometimes, to wonder if she’s fallen in love with just another one of his personas.

She’d fallen for Willix Luxen after all, that smooth-talking, expensive-suit-wearing government agent, who had spied _on_ her when she’d visited Ord Mantell. Back before Bail had cleared her involvement with Draven.

Willix had danced with her at some fancy party or other, had spun her across the floor and wheedled answers out of her with those bright brown eyes. Answers that would have gotten her detained if he had been a real government official and not an operative sent by Draven.

If Willix had been Cassian, of course, something she is still not sure of.

After that, there had been a discussion between Bail and Draven, which resulted in Leia being immersed in a few espionage lessons conducted by an annoyed Cassian (who quickly passed the task to someone else). Lessons that had kept her alive, and Yavin IV safe when she’d been captured. Lessons that perhaps had built a basis for her to fall in love with Cassian. Not the Cassian who had been Willix (if her guess was correct) but the Cassian she had thought was the real young man underneath.

So maybe Draven had been right, at least partially. These days, she’s sure there were layers of conflict between those two men, and it hurts, somewhere deep and small, compared to all the other hurts, that she’ll never be able to ask her father his opinion of the Intelligence commander who had raised (and broken) Cassian.

So, she makes sure her footsteps are noisy, heeled boots clanking on the floor of the ship, as she approaches. He teases her, sometimes, about how she walks as stealthy as a gundark. He’s forgotten that she took espionage classes too, that she has those skills. He doesn’t realize that she’s noisy to allow him to wake slowly back to the present day, that her clumsiness, like some of her cluelessness about household tasks, is to keep him here. In this present moment. With her and Esperanza.

With their family, as tiny and wonderful as it is.

She needs to keep him here, where he belongs, in the happy peace his actions helped win. Because she hasn’t forgotten how he used to jump, how his hand went to the blaster holster at his side, when she’d touch him without warning, when he’s lost like this.

The moments are rarer now than they were on Coruscant, but they still appear, like comets, sudden and sharp.

Leia vows to be like the brightest sun in return, blotting out the arc of the comet of grief.

Cassian doesn’t turn, but she carefully wraps her arms around his waist and leans up on her tiptoes to put her chin on his shoulder. “What are you thinking?”

“Mm.” It’s a non-answer, but she didn’t really expect one. So she kisses his cheek, his stubble brushing her lips.

“Want to ask me what I’m thinking?”

“Why should I?” he says playfully, shifting his posture the smallest amount, one of his angular hips now pressing against her side. She loves the tactical sensations of being close to him, the feeling that he is real, that they are alive, that they have survived the war and are victorious in life.

“Maybe I’m thinking of something nice.” She says, kissing his neck, where his pulse beats, steady but a little faster than usual, a tiny tell she’s quite proud of herself for coaxing out. A tiny bit of romantic seduction is hard when your husband is trained to resist it… Which is why she is quite happy for tiny moments like this. For kisses and snuggles and falling asleep with her head on his chest on random lazy afternoons.

Or when she types it into his calendar on a future date. There’s actually one three weeks from now, a little flashing pink reminder for him, which she’s sure he’s already noted, ensured that Kay will be watching Esperanza, and started to plan for. Cassian is good at planning dates, which came as a surprise to her, though it perhaps shouldn't have. A romantic dinner maybe, or a night of dancing to old music, enjoying their simple U-wing home as much as she had once enjoyed ballrooms.

Actually, she enjoys life here, far, far more. Who would have thought a princess needed so little? Who would have thought peace could feel so luxurious?

“I am sure you are.” He says it distractedly, his voice decidedly a little rougher.

To encourage that, she leans up and kisses him. Again. But a little more passionately this time.

“Then tell me what I’m thinking.” Leia teases.

And he, suddenly, beautifully, spins on his left heel, his right foot lifting, hooking behind her calf to pull her off-balance, just enough that her grip on his waist breaks, and he’s able to spin her around, her old simple skirt flaring around her. It's a skirt he sewed for her, which means she cherishes it more than ten thousand fine gowns made of silks and bedecked with gems. She'd had those gowns, once upon a time. She'd had a very different life then.

But this life, right now, is all she wants. It’s one tiny moment of a dance, a little whirl of fabric and hope and joy.

But it’s also a maneuver made for combat, she knows. One she had learned as well. But his hands are so gentle on her, every bit of his attention on keeping her safe… and keeping her close to him. Cassian is holding on to her as much as she is to him. Cassian keeps her here, in this moment, keeps her away from overworking, away from throwing herself into ten thousand countless new tasks, each one meant to distract her from feeling anything ever again.

And Cassian keeps her from opening up that box of grief she will carry for the rest of her life. Because the anniversary of the Death Star's destruction is all too close to the anniversary of losing her first, her truest home.

Leia's grip tightens on Cassian's loose shirt, as if afraid he'll slip away like smoke.

But he has promised not to and she knows he keeps his promises.

“I am thinking,” he whispers, his accent drawing out the vowels long, enough to make her shiver. “I am thinking that you are....” he pauses . “That you are planning to kiss me, quite wickedly.”

“I am rather wicked,” she agrees, as his free hand slides over her shoulder, as if he’s never touched her before. Mapping out the path he’s kissed a thousand times before.

“And talkative,” he murmurs, before strealling another kiss. This one is as deep as empty space, as bright as starlight. “How long do we have?” he whispers, both of them aware that their toddler, as sweet as she is, does tend to take precedence over moments like this.

But Esperanza was invited over to “help” Poe learn to cook empanadas, so Leia and Cassian have the U-Wing to themselves.

“Just enough for a few kisses.” She smiles up at her husband. “The Damerons will be back soon. Hence the change of pace.”

“It is quite a change.” But, the Damerons mentioned that they needed to drop Esperanza off in an hour, instead of three… so she improvised.

Which was working out well. She kisses him in response, her arms resting on his shoulders. She’s able to look him level in the eyes like this, and takes full advantage of doing so. Kissing his lips, his nose, the little crease between his eyebrows.

“I love you,” she whispers.

“You amaze me,” he replies. “Every day. Every hour. Every minute. I love you, Leia,” he whispers.

Her name said like that is nearly enough to make her melt. It’s something she’s learned, that his voice, almost more than his touch, is what she needs. She needs to know it’s him, that it’s Cassian, her husband, and that he wants her. That he loves her as she is and she knows him as he truly is.

Because more than once, she had nearly fallen for him when he wasn’t himself.

When he was a spy and she was a foolish girl.

This time, she knows without a doubt it’s Cassian. Even with her eyes closed. She knows every callus on his hands, knows the pattern of his breath, the scent of him, all clean and crisp, with only the slightest scent of repair oil for mechanical tasks and sweat. He doesn’t use cologne, or even really aftershave, though she’s bought both for him.

Instead, there’s the softest hint of soap, and that’s all.

In so many ways, all that there is of Cassian is faint hints. Ghosts of smiles, fragments of memories, broken bits of his past that he allows himself to share with her.

But right now, he shares so much more. He shares his love, his warmth, and the two end up curled in the bed, resting, happy for the tiny slice of time they’d seized. She’s usually quiet, in these small moments, hoping he might nod off, and get some much-needed sleep.

Usually, he doesn’t. But today, he does, his breath steadying out, and his eyelids pressing closed more tightly. Leia’s careful to maneuver them into a comfortable position then sets the alarm for twenty minutes.

She’s amazed he’s slept this long, but he didn’t sleep at all last night, working on some slicing project Bodhi had asked of him. Meanwhile, she’d been up revising a contract for a local governor.

Neither of them are good at getting much sleep, if she’s honest with herself. Neither of them know how to take care of their own health, but they’re both pretty good at looking out for each other, and even better at taking care of their daughter. So, Leia takes care of him, sleeping lightly next to him.

* * *

In her dreams, she’s back at that gala. In her dreams, she is able to see things so much more clearly and so much more heartbreakingly. Things had been so simple then, when she had been young.

Simple, and yet, so, so dangerous.

_The youngest Moff in the Core Worlds is certainly one of the wealthiest, Leia thinks, as she’s led by him into the parlour he called an intimate dance floor. It’s nearly as large as the royal ballroom back home, but far uglier. It’s designed with the tastes of all the Imperial Officers, all thick heavy lines and cold durasteel. Moff Eyawa stated he’d had the place redecorated recently, bragged about destroying all the fine shell-carvings that had come from Mon Cala._

_And Leia, as if there was nothing more charming than the destruction of beautiful, priceless, perfect art, had said, “how lovely.”_

_Now, she watches him study his party. Leia hopes, for the servants’ sake, that everything meets his approval. Through her two week courtship and study of Moff Eyawa, she has already learned the cold fury that lies beyond his smooth face and bright green eyes. He’s bragged to her of his firm hand with those he considers beneath him, he’s joked about things that have made Leia’s heart break._

_All the while, she smiles at him, listening, gathering proof for her father’s latest plans. They need to know where Moff Eyawa plans to build his next factory, so they can lay the groundwork to destroy it._

_“Why those…” Moff Eyawa swears, his hand clenching hard around Leia’s. “They’ve set out the Bugravi silverware when I asked for the Morvi. I’m going to deal with this.”_

_He pauses, looks at her, as if remembering that he’s supposed to at least treat her like she’s deserving of some respect, even if he treats no one else that way, and says, “Please. Have a drink. Dance. I’ll catch up soon.”_

_Leia does dance, and she pretends to drink. All the while, she listens. At eighteen, she’s one of the youngest guests here. Most of the guests see her youth as a target to chase after, which makes her skin crawl. She hides that behind giggles and blushing smile, as aging Imperial dignitaries line up to dance with her._

_She eventually gives up on the dance floor, and sits down. This time, it;s harder not to avoid the drink in front of her, after the dancing and the tight press of her embroidered bodice have left her breathless. But the last thing she needs on such a delicate mission is to lose her control, so she only sips a small amount of the cordial someone pours for her._

_They didn’t see her drop a small fizzing pill into the drink, which would remove over 70% of the most common poisons. Just in case._

_The young man is charming, when he smiles at her, and graceful, when he approaches. “Do you dance?” His voice is warm, a little husky, but utterly smooth, like all Core World accents. And those, of course, are the only ones the Empire allows at its parties._

_There are no non-humans on the dance floor either, Leia has noticed. Even ten years ago, that would have been scandalous. Now, it’s common. The Emperor has begun his programs and will not stop until the galaxy is exactly as he wills it._

_Unless Leia thinks, she has nothing to say about it._

_She wishes she had a blaster, wishes she could fight instead of flatter at this stupid party. But instead, she says, “I do dance.”_

_“May I have this one, then?” His hand extends. There’s a flashy gold chrono on his wrist, matching the subtle gold cuff on one ear, and the glitter combed through his dark hair. His face is young, but guarded. The sort of face one might smile at from a distance, but never know how to speak to, directly._

_“And you are?” she asks._

_“Willix Luxen,” he replies. A name like luxury. A name as rich and probably as spoiled as everyone else here._

_But it’s a name, and it’s just a dance. Leia nods, tells him her own name. She goes through the motions, all the while wondering if she should even be here._

_“Oh, I know who you are, princess. We all do.”_

_“Are you planning on dancing with me because I am a princess?”_

_“I wish to dance with you because you are beautiful. And,” he shrugs, effortlessly, the glitter catching the light like an artificial star. “And because I am bored.”_

_“That makes two of us.” Only then does she give him her hand. They dance once, and then again._

_He asks her, “are you good friends with Moff Evya then?”_

_She shakes her head. Which is stupid. She’s going to blow her cover. But… her flirtation with the Moff is a game, although an important one, and this… there’s something different about Willix. Something that lets her daydream about walks in gardens and kisses at parties. Something that feels as real as it feels foolish. “He’s needlessly cruel and rather petty.”_

_The slight change of pressure of his hand on the small of her back is the only sign he’s heard her, until he says, “bold words.”_

_“I am not one to lie,” she says._

_“An even bolder choice.” The song ends. Leia doesn't want this moment to end, though. She wants to believe, even if it's wrong, that there's something to hold on to, something good in this stranger she doesn't know. She looks up at him. There’s a glitter combed through his hair, which makes the lack of light in his dark eyes all the more apparent. Willix, she thinks, is a complicated man, despite his youth. “And if I was to tell the Moff you said that?”_

_“I would simply admit to attempting to woo you, instead.” Leia smiles back at him._

_But her smile has the strangest reaction. There’s a flicker of pain in his face, before he says, “walk with me? To the balcony.”_

_The view from the balcony shows a glittering city, the stars just as bright above. He shuts the door behind them. She knows she should be scared, to be alone with a stranger. But she has her pistol and her wits about her, and she’s sure she’ll be fine. “So,” he says, “if you are not a fan of the Moff, then…”_

_She shrugs. “I use my charm how I can, Mr. Luxen. I find men tend to talk a great deal in front of those they see as silly little trifles.”_

_“And what do you do with this… knowledge you acquire?”_

_“I save it, and will use it. Someday, to help someone. “ She tells him, softly, of her dreams for a better galaxy. He listens. She talks, with all the passion that has been boiling within her, for the Rebellion, for the future. Willx listens, and she thinks, just perhaps, he might even agree with her. Perhaps, just perhaps, she has finally recruited one of these glittering diplomats and sycophants to the cause._

_Or perhaps he just is good at lying to a pretty girl._

_At the end of the night, he kisses her hand and she never sees him again._

* * *

Leia wakes, to find Cassian already up, with Esperanza in his lap and a holobook in his hand. It’s a jarring moment, leaving the memory behind and returning to this reality.

The rebellion had succeeded. There was a new, more peaceful galaxy. And Leia, she thought with some relief, would never have to attend a state dinner ball again.

They’re busy with Esperanza until late that evening, when they have her tucked in. then, by the time Leia is done with the ‘fresher, Cassian is already waiting in their bed for her. He has a mug of tea in his hand, but passes her a small glass of red wine, and kisses her cheek. She wraps the blanket around their knees, since they’re still sitting. The bed is both a couch and their one private spot, with the long curtains pulled around it like a cave. Sometimes it makes her feel a little giddy, like she’s hiding here with this handsome rogue she still can’t believe she married.

Other times, it makes her a little nostalgic, for the memory of a full-sided bedroom and a life that was not lived on a ship. But then, Cassian’s free hand, nicely warmed by his mug, travels over her shoulder and down, before wrapping around her waist and pulling her close.

She leans against him, and sips her wine. Then, she recaps little bits of the day. The work she’s doing on the peace treaty request she was recently sent, her scheduled trip to see Luke, some updates about the most recent election. She doesn’t mention the fact there’s a few former Imperial officers, pardoned by their home planets, up for election.

Cassian knows, she’s sure of it, and to discuss it is to bring war back into their peaceful nest, something they have vowed not to do. Tomorrow’s dangers can wait for tomorrow.

“What was it you were thinking?” she finally asks.

“That this ship is soon going to be too small,” he admits, ruefully. “Though full of…” he pauses to take her hand and kiss it, like Willix had all those years ago. A stranger shiver races down Leia’s back. “Wonderful memories.”

“It has been a good home.”

The way he had kissed her hand lingers longer than it should, stirring a memory that should stay locked away. And just when their breathing has almost steadied, Leia dares to ask, “Do you remember when you danced with me?”

“At our anniversary party?”

“No! Before.” Though that had been a lovely party. Five whole years of marriage to this kind, beautiful man… and hopefully many more to come.

“On Endor?”

“No.” Now she pauses. “We danced on Endor?”

“Mm.” He kisses her shoulder. “I strode up to you and spun you around a few times.”

“I… I was with Han!”

“I pretended I didn’t know that.” He muses. “Or maybe I did and didn’t care.”

“Cassian!” she turns in his arms to face him, the blankets tangling around them. He’s watching her with bright, warm eyes, playful with mirth. Does he know how young, how beautiful he looks when he’s smiling?

Younger somehow than he had looked, as Willix. If he had been Willix? She’d been so sure, so positive that memory hadn’t lied to her, that the man who had stood with her at that balcony had been the man she would one day marry. And yet…

“I did.”

Leia shakes her head. Surely, she’d remember that, even in the chaotic, joyful celebration. “You didn’t.”

He kisses her forehead next. “You are right, princess.” There’s a long pause. He looks away, past her, past even the walls of their home. She worries for a moment that she is losing him once more to the darkness that haunts the spy he once, and perhaps, always will be. Then, he smiles softly. “But I did wish to.”

She thinks back to that night, and how different things might have been, she presses closer. “Any other memories of dancing?”

“I feel there’s one specific one you’re targeting. Tell me.”

Leia finds herself blushing. For a moment, she thinks of reminding him instead of that illuminated dance floor they had once stumbled upon when she had lived on Coruscant and he had been her bodyguard. The dance that had nearly ruined their friendship. Or perhaps, she should tell him she was thinking of how they had danced at her friend’s wedding, how much they had laughed, pretending to be ordinary wedding guests.

That memory, though, only reminded her of how good he was at pretending. She needed to talk about the first dance. She needed to be brave, as brave as she had been on that balcony. “You had on a fine surcoat made of Iriaz-wool and gold glitter in your hair.”

“That doesn't sound like me at all.”

“And you told me that champagne tastes like sad water.”

“Well, that does, perhaps.”

He’s still smiling, but his eyes aren’t. Those have gone cold, his gaze distant And that’s the only answer she needs. “Must have been someone else.”

“Must have been,” he agrees.

Leia falls asleep again, safe in the arms of the man she loves. She always has felt safe around Cassian, ever since they met, that night, so long ago. And she knows she always will.

* * *

Cassian closes his own eyes and tries not to recall a message he had once memorized, before destroying it, as he had been ordered. How strange, how bitter was his past, and how wonderful, this second (or was it fifty? He’d lost count) chance he had at happiness. Desperate to clear his mind of the memory, he’d re-read his daughter’s silly little holobook about the lost bantha five times.

And yet, all he can think of is dancing with Leia.

How many times they’d danced. How many times it had nearly broken his heart.

With the message’s text still ringing in his mind, Cassian bows his head to kiss his wife’s brow and holds her a little tighter, vowing, as he had every night for what felt like a lifetime, that no harm would ever come to her.

He would die before breaking that vow.

But, the message and the terrible what-could-have been, lingers. It is enough to steel his resolve, to make him delete the message flashing on his own private comm watch, asking him to once again spy, not for the Rebellion, but for the government created by it.

Never again would he do what he had once done. Never again would he take orders, regardless of what they did to his heart.

Because he had stood on a balcony once, and he had listened to a brave princess tell him about the cause she believed in, even if those words could have gotten her killed. Even if trying to recruit a man as vain and useless as Willix had appeared to be was certainly a lost cause.

Leia had no subtlety then, no bit of spy’s training. She carried no weapons, was provided no indication to know if she could trust Willix. All she had was her words. He had been armed with weapons, prepared with dossiers. She had simply a conviction and the fire of a supernova in her eyes.

It had been enough to save her life.

_Mission Brief: Andor, should the princess show any signs of Imperial leanings, any sort of wavering of her character, you are ordered to deal with her swiftly and quietly. The pills found in your pack will be slow-acting enough for you to take action, then escape without suspicion. B. Organa will never know._

_I am concerned that her flirtations with the young Moff Eyawa is not the harmless nonsense of youth Organa sees it as and instead represents a vast threat to our safety. Any evidence classified information has been shared with Moff Eyawa, and you are to terminate Leia Immediately._

_Do not tell anyone about the contents of this message. It will delete upon being read._

_-Draven_


End file.
